Cut and Run 4 - Divide and Conquer

could scream for help. It had
    hurt like a son of a bitch, but now the pain had subsided to a dull throb,
    and he thought it might be okay.
    He watched as Zane walked into the shopping complex with a
    mixed group of agents and cops, following the bomb-sniffing dogs, and
    then looked up at the face of the glass-walled building, trying to decide
    which part they were heading for and wondering why they were going
    up with the bomb techs at all. Protection detail, maybe? Backup for
    continued evac? If he remembered correctly, there was shopping on the
    second and third floors. He‟d been in the food court a couple of times.
    Ty groaned at the thought of food and shut his eyes. He should
    have just taken the Tylenol and bitched about being sore all day. If he
    started throwing up, his ribs would hurt again.
    He unbuckled his seatbelt and slumped further in his seat,
    practically lying flat with his legs extended onto the driver‟s side
    dashboard. He watched the building idly, waiting for Zane to come
    back and drive him home, where he could wallow in misery for the rest
    of the day.
    Divide & Conquer | 91

    He zoned out for awhile, drifting in and out, but his eyes were
    open when all the windows on the far corner of the building‟s third
    floor blew out in an explosion that sent flames licking out of the
    casements.
    Ty was moving and out of the truck, feet pounding on the
    concrete, before he realized what he was doing. He and other agents
    who‟d been loitering around outside ran toward the building as the
    flames receded back into the windows and alarms began to blare. First
    through the doors, Ty took off toward the stairs with several others on
    his heels. He took the stairs two at a time, the other agents falling
    behind by the time he reached the third-story fire exit.
    When Ty pushed through the door, it was face-first into a fine
    mist the sprinklers spit and sprayed over him, the water working to put
    out the flames. Smoke choked the shattered concourse; smoldering and
    dripping debris littered the once-shining marbled floors, and scorch
    marks blackened the walls.
    “Garrett!” Ty called out as he covered his mouth and nose with
    his sleeve and moved into the cluttered space.
    “Fire and rescue‟s on the way,” an agent told him breathlessly as
    he came through the door behind Ty.
    “How many we got up here?” Ty demanded.
    “Ten, at least,” the man answered, “not counting BPD.” Ty began
    picking his way down the ruined hall, staying low and watching the
    ceiling for falling tiles. He heard a dog whining and followed the
    sound.
    “Garrett!” he called out again before coughing.
    Thick, ugly smoke billowed through the once-clear hall, drawn by
    shattered windows acting like a flue, making his eyes sting. Whole
    walls had been blown out of several ritzy boutiques, sending
    merchandise flying like the building was an ashy snow globe turned
    over and shaken violently. The blast pattern fanned so far out—all the
    way to the exterior walls in places—that it was impossible to tell where
    their people could have been. Then Ty found two agents in
    windbreakers leaning on each other, one limping heavily, struggling
    through the mess.
    92 | Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux

    Ty grabbed one by the shoulder, looking them both over for
    obvious injuries. He could see a broken arm on one; the other appeared
    merely bruised and battered. “You okay?” he asked, raising his voice in
    anticipation of both men being nearly deaf from the concussion of the
    blast.
    One glanced up and nodded, although he grimaced. “Two
    storefronts that way,” he said hoarsely as he pointed. “Some of our
    guys are down.”
    Ty took off the way the agent had pointed, moving over the
    debris with less care than he should have. He clambered over a grisly
    burnt and melted mannequin and half a wall of shredded clothes blown
    out of one of the stores. At the sound of a sharp crack, he looked down
    to see a now-crunched pair of aviator sunglasses. More glass from the
    storefronts covered the floor like scattered diamonds glinting in the rain
    still coming down from what sprinklers were intact. Getting around a
    collapsed metal gate took precious seconds he didn‟t have, and then he
    stumbled upon a group of agents with various injuries, some worse than
    others. A dog hunched over its master, whining mournfully and
    periodically pacing away as if trying to decide whether to go for help or
    stay.
    An agent turned and waved